


The Night At Crowley's Flat fic #287

by SpiritMuse



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale is Not Oblivious (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley is Bad at Feelings (Good Omens), Gen, Pre-Scene: Body Swap (Good Omens), The Night At Crowley's Flat (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-21
Updated: 2020-01-21
Packaged: 2021-02-26 08:29:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22352134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpiritMuse/pseuds/SpiritMuse
Summary: Exactly what it says on the tin. Probably the most written fanfic in Good Omens AO3 fandom, but we all know there's always room for more cakes!a.k.a: The evening after Armageddon didn't happen, Crowley and Aziraphale are left to figure out what that final prophecy means, version 287.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 80





	The Night At Crowley's Flat fic #287

**Author's Note:**

> My first effort at Good Omens fic. Thanks to the folks of the Ace Omens discord for <strike>enabling</strike> encouraging me. <3

Crowley had grabbed Aziraphale's hand to pull him down next to him on the small bus seat.

And then, when Aziraphale had sat down, he had left his hand right there, still loosely holding Aziraphale's.

Crowley was, of course, slouching in the seat as he was wont to do, leaning against the window, face slightly turned away from Aziraphale. But his hand had stayed in place.

Aziraphale carefully kept his own hand still. Crowley's cool hand in his was grounding and, dare he say it, comforting. He didn't want to draw attention to it and somehow spook Crowley into withdrawing. Crowley had never been much for physical contact—except for a few times when they had been really very drunk indeed, and Crowley had jovially wrapped an arm around Aziraphale's shoulders, or somesuch.

He carefully glanced over at Crowley, and with his face angled like that he could just peek behind those dark sunglasses. Crowley's eyes were closed. He looked almost as if he were asleep, but Aziraphale was quite sure he wasn't. Probably.

Neither of them spoke during the bus ride. Aziraphale was too preoccupied with his own thoughts and worries. He just couldn't figure out what the prophecy meant. That they were still in danger was clear—it would have been even without the prophecy. Heaven and Hell weren't going to just let them go after what they'd done. But he had no idea what the rest could mean.

Crowley's hand was still cool and grounding in his.

When the bus stopped in front of Crowley's building, Aziraphale finally let go, and got up. Crowley followed, and together they exited the bus and went up to Crowley's top floor flat. Crowley snapped his fingers to unlock the door, and they stepped into the vestibule. 

Aziraphale stopped short when he spotted a small pile of ratty old clothes lying on the floor, right in the doorway to the rest of the flat. They didn't look like anything Crowley might wear.

"What's that?" he asked, curious.

"Nothing, angel," Crowley said, a little too quickly, and snapped his fingers to miracle the clothes away.

"That wasn't nothing," Aziraphale insisted.

"Fine. It was a demon," Crowley admitted, "Or what was left of him after the holy water was done with him," he added with a mumble as he stepped through the door.

"Holy water?" Aziraphale asked, following Crowley into the flat proper, "Wait- You _killed_ him? With holy water? With _my_ holy water?"

"Yes," Crowley said irritatedly, "That's what I wanted it for! I told you they were coming after me," he continued, starting to pace through the flat. "So I killed one of them. Then I managed to give the other the slip."

He angrily ripped the cords from his telephone and his answering machine. Aziraphale was still reeling from the idea that Crowley had killed... well, anyone, really. He was well aware that Crowley was a demon, of course, but he'd never truly stopped to think what that meant. He'd never really wanted to.

"You killed a fellow demon," he said, his tone maybe a bit more accusatory than he'd intended, "Just like that?"

"Not 'just like that'," Crowley growled as he stalked through the flat, ripping out more cables from various devices and from sockets in the wall. "They were _coming for me_, angel, I told you. It was them or me. I had to strike first." 

He stopped at a large black reflective rectangle affixed to the wall, that Aziraphale vaguely thought might be one of those newfangled 'flat screened televisions'. The demon growled at it, frantically searching around the edges for something. 

"Crowley..." Aziraphale said, sensing he'd pushed this too far. The way Crowley was raging through his flat, destroying his things had him terribly worried, but he didn't quite know how to deescalate the situation. Everything he said seemed to be the wrong thing.

"And they're _still_ coming for us, angel," Crowley went on, his voice harsh with an edge of panic, "After what we did, they're both going to be coming after us, and they're not going to stop until- _raaaagh!_" Crowley screamed in frustration as he put his fist right through the front of the television, the screen briefly flashing bright colors as it shattered, sparks skittering away around Crowley's hand.

"Crowley stop it!" Aziraphale said as forcefully as he dared, "You're frightening me!"

"Good! You _should_ be afraid!" Crowley said sharply, looking back at Aziraphale as he pulled his hand from the broken screen. His face was pulled into a terrifying snarl.

"No, Crowley..." Aziraphale said, feeling terribly unsettled by the way Crowley was looking at him, "You- you're making me afraid of _you_."

That seemed to stop Crowley cold, his snarl freezing into a grimace. He closed his eyes and breathed air out through his nose. His fist uncurled, fingers flexing as he shook out his hand, any trace of injury disappearing.

"...I'm sorry angel, I didn't mean to," he hissed through clenched teeth, "It's just..."

He sighed and seemed to shrink a little. 

"I've had a bit of a day," he said. 

"I suppose we both have," Aziraphale agreed. 

Crowley shook his head, then sauntered snakelike, as he did, to his desk and snapped his fingers. A second chair appeared beside it. It was, like most everything in Crowley's flat, black. Unlike most everything in Crowley's flat, however—including Crowley himself—it was also soft and fluffy. Aziraphale sat in the soft chair as Crowley sank down in what could only be described as his throne. He removed his sunglasses before dramatically flopping forward, his arms draped across the desk, his forehead settling on the surface of it with a soft thunk. It reminded Aziraphale somewhat of the way a human child might demonstrably show exhaustion. Crowley did always have a flair for the dramatic. 

"Angel," he said, still face down on the desk, "Do me a favour? Don't ever threaten me like that again."

Even without any preamble, Aziraphale knew exactly what he meant. 

"I'm sorry, Crowley," he said, and he truly meant it. "I know it was cruel, but I saw no other option."

Crowley remained silent. The fingers of his hand twitched where they were still grasping his sunglasses.

"I knew if anyone could come up with an idea in the face of.... well, _that_, it would be you," Aziraphale continued, "But you were spiralling and, well, it was the only way I could think of to get through to you. I really am so dreadfully sorry," he added.

Crowley still didn't respond. It made Aziraphale a little uncertain. As well as he'd come to know Crowley over the course of their lives, there were still so many times when he wasn't quite sure what was going through the demon's mind.

"...I thought I'd lost you today," he heard Crowley murmur softly, face still hidden, his arms drawn slightly towards himself in what might have been a protective gesture, sunglasses abandoned on the desk beside him. "When I found the bookshop in flames..." he continued, an unusual rasp in his voice, "And you weren't there, I thought- I thought they'd killed you, and I-"

Crowley abruptly stopped talking, and Aziraphale had a minor revelation. 

_I lost my best friend,_ Crowley had said.

He'd sensed that Crowley had been upset, but he hadn't fully understood it at the time, being more than a little preoccupied with the very confusing experience of trying to get anywhere on earth without a body, unable to even truly see where he was. And after that he hadn't had a chance to think about it anymore, but... that really _had_ been about him, hadn't it? Crowley had believed him _dead_. He remembered, now, just how drunk and devastated Crowley had sounded, the hitch in his voice as he'd said the words.

The realisation tore at Aziraphale's heart. He'd tried to imagine, once or twice, long ago, what he would do if Hell found out and destroyed Crowley. He'd never wanted to think about it again. But Crowley had _been there._

Suddenly Crowley pushed away from the desk with a hiss and almost violently sprawled backwards and sideways into his chair, bare eyes trained to the ceiling, deliberately avoiding Aziraphale. Then Crowley grimaced, turned his head, and snarled at nothing in particular, his eyes glaring holes into the wall now. 

Aziraphale, who had managed not to jump at the unexpected action, remained quiet. After six thousand years he had learned to recognise things like this as signs that Crowley was working up to doing something he believed to be contrary to his nature as a demon. 

Crowley closed his eyes and sighed harshly, before relaxing ever so slightly and sliding lower into the chair. His elbow ended up planted on the armrest, his head leaning into his hand, and he was still stubbornly looking away from Aziraphale. He looked a little like a bored and annoyed prince. 

"I thought I could run away without you," Crowley said finally, sounding, on the surface, indeed mostly annoyed. But Aziraphale could hear, underneath, maybe not quite as hidden as the demon would have liked, something more.

"I thought I could just go off on my own and leave you behind and not care," Crowley continued, his voice growing stronger, more hooded, "But I can't," he shrugged, almost looking as nonchalant as he intended to be.

He finally looked straight at Aziraphale then, his eyes filled with so very many things.

"So you're stuck with me, angel, whether you like it or not," he said, a wry smile appearing on his face, almost like it was a challenge.

Aziraphale's eyebrows twitched upwards slightly. Well. Never before had Crowley laid out his feelings quite so clearly. It was still cryptic, of course, and filled with posturing—because of course this was still Crowley, with his long-held aversion to anything even remotely affectionate—but Aziraphale could read between the lines. He could read all the things in between that Crowley wasn't saying, even if he'd never wanted to admit it before.

And what he read was that this was about as close to an open declaration of love as Crowley was likely to get. 

Not that Aziraphale himself had ever actually said the words in all these years. He'd never dared. But then, he had never felt they really needed to. Words between them, _about_ them, had always only ever been for show. For the benefit of Above and Below. Their actions had always spoken much louder. How many times had Crowley come to Aziraphale's rescue, while waving away any implication that that was what he was doing? How many times had Aziraphale come to Crowley's, and yet refused to admit in words that they were even so much as friends? 

Then again, after the events of these past few days, after they had come closer than ever to actually losing each other, after they had ended up burning their bridges with both Heaven and Hell anyway... maybe that could change. 

Aziraphale allowed himself to smile warmly. 

"There's no one I would rather be stuck with," he said.

For a moment, Crowley's smile resolved into something genuine. Then his face darkened.

"It's not going to last very long though," he said morosely, "No matter where we run, they're going to find us and they're going to kill us, and I just can't see any way out..."

He closed his eyes again, an anguished frown appearing on his face. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk, and rubbed his face with both hands.

"I'm sorry angel, I'm all out of plans..." he said miserably from between his fingers.

Suddenly it occurred to Aziraphale that Crowley looked quite exhausted. It didn't happen often for beings like them—and he'd certainly never seen Crowley like that—but even their considerable energy reserves were not without limit. And Crowley had been asked to do an awful lot these past few days, not least by Aziraphale himself. 

"Crowley," he ventured, "Do you still keep that bed you had around in the 80s?"

Crowley looked up at him, confused. His eyes had gone very yellow, Aziraphale realised. Another clear sign of stress.

"Uh, well, not that bed," he said, "But I have _a_ bed. Why?"

"Why don't you get in it and get some sleep," Aziraphale suggested as gently as he could.

"Angel-" Crowley bristled.

"Crowley," Aziraphale said, in a tone that brooked no argument, "You're exhausted."

"But- I- ngk," Crowley tried to argue anyway.

"I'll keep thinking about our problem," Aziraphale assured him, "I'm sure Agnes' prophecy holds the answer. It came to us for a reason."

"...Alright, angel," Crowley sighed. It was a testament to just how exhausted he was that he gave in as quickly as he did. Aziraphale tried not to worry too much. They would figure something out.

* * *

Crowley hadn't wanted to admit it outright, but Aziraphale was right. He did need rest. So, despite his ongoing worry about their situation, Crowley carefully folded himself out of his throne and got to his feet. He noticed he was feeling rather a bit lightheaded, and he felt himself sway just a little as he walked. He tried to hide it as best he could by leaning into his usual swagger just a little bit more—though he had a nagging suspicion that Aziraphale would be able to tell anyway.

He made his way through the open revolving door and walked down the hall, ignoring his plants along the way, until he reached his bedroom. He snapped his fingers, miracling away his clothes in favour of a thin, full length sleeping ensemble. Normally he would be in his underwear—he really enjoyed the feeling of the luxurious and warm fabric of his bedsheets against his skin—but Aziraphale was here and he was sure it would embarrass the angel. Because Crowley certainly wouldn't be embarrassed, definitely not.

He crawled into his comfortably large double bed and slithered under the covers, sprawling and shuffling around a bit to make sure there were no exposed limbs that might get cold. He burrowed his face into the soft pillow, sighing deeply at how comfortable it felt.

He'd been rather put through the wringer today. Convincing the Bentley to stay together all the way from London to Tadfield had been stressful enough, and then on top of that there was the timestop. He'd never done it on quite that scale before—he usually kept it a fairly local affair, which was difficult enough, but this time he'd had to try to somehow include all of Heaven and all of Hell, too, and he'd ended up pulling the three of them into a small pocket space in between seconds.

And then on top of _that,_ there was the emotional toll of first arguing with Aziraphale, then being rejected by Aziraphale—and _truly_ rejected, not one of those knee-jerk rejections that Aziraphale always did for show that Crowley had long gotten used to—then _losing_ Aziraphale altogether, then _getting him back_, and then losing the Bentley instead, after everything... It had been, as the humans liked to say, quite a roller coaster. 

He finally allowed himself to feel every ounce of his exhaustion. He burrowed a little deeper into the bed, another sigh escaping him as he felt his suddenly heavy body comfortably sink into the soft mattress.

But he couldn't quite fall asleep. Something niggled at him deep within. He tried to ignore it and sleep anyway, but the harder he tried, the more the thing kept niggling away. He knew what it was. _Stupid_, is what it was. Ridiculous, and nonsensical.

He sighed irritatedly, and slowly unfurled from the blankets again. On soft, bare feet, he silently padded through the house and leaned into the still open entrance to his office, crossing his arms.

Aziraphale was still there, still in the chair Crowley had pulled out for him, quietly studying the scrap of paper containing the prophecy in his hand, seemingly unaware of Crowley's presence in the doorway.

Crowley knew what he had to do, but that didn't mean he had to like it. Demons didn't do things like that. Especially not demons who had already made what was tantamount to a love confession earlier the same day.

Then again, he'd always been a fairly crap demon, hadn't he? He'd been able to fool Head Office into thinking he wasn't, for a very long time, but they knew the truth now. They'd already tried to come after him once. And that was before he had openly betrayed them.

But then, since Head Office already wanted him dead anyway... It wouldn't really matter anymore what he did, now would it? Wasn't as if he could get into any worse trouble.

"Angel," he ventured, trying not to sound too annoyed. He wasn't sure if he was succeeding. 

"Crowley?" Aziraphale said, only now seeming to notice him, "Something the matter?"

"Come on," Crowley said, and jerked his head in the direction of his bedroom.

Aziraphale raised his eyebrows, but he got up and followed Crowley back down the hall.

"I need to keep an eye on you, make sure you don't get into trouble," Crowley said, because as adaptable as he was, some changes were too fast even for him.

Aziraphale seemed to understand exactly what he wasn't saying, however, because he replied: "Of course. In fact, I... would like to keep an eye on you, too."

"Ngk," said Crowley, because Aziraphale was catching on to this code he was speaking far too quickly, and used it against him far too effectively.

"Take your shoes off," he ordered as they entered the darkened bedroom. Unceremoniously he got back into the bed, pulling all the covers over himself on his half. It wasn't as if Aziraphale was going to need them.

He felt the bed dipping behind him as Aziraphale sat down and settled in against the headboard. Crowley felt his warmth radiating faintly at this distance. Maybe one day he'd like to bask in it, he thought vaguely.

"Sleep well, my dear," Aziraphale said softly.

Crowley mumbled something in reply, but even he didn't know what it was because he was already half asleep, the niggling thing finally quieted.

* * *

"Crowley? Crowley!"

Crowley was pulled to wakefulness by quiet but urgent callings of his name. His forehead was pressing comfortably against something warm and soft. His whole body was pleasantly warm. He lazily blinked his eyes open, and found his field of vision filled with something light and beige.... The color of Aziraphale's clothes. He froze.

He was snuggled up right against Aziraphale. 

He definitely hadn't gone to sleep like this. And he most definitely hadn't planned to wake up like this. 

He quickly pulled away and rolled onto his back, awkwardly avoiding looking at Aziraphale.

"Sorry about that," he mumbled uncomfortably, rubbing his hands across his face. Damn his traitor snake body, going to bask in Aziraphale's warmth without his permission.

"It's quite alright," said Aziraphale, "Perhaps I'm the one who should apologise, you're quite clearly used to sleeping in the centre of the bed," he added, smoothly handing Crowley a reasonable excuse. As if he _knew._ The bastard.

"'S fine, angel," Crowley mumbled, "What'd ya wake me up for?"

"I've figured out what the prophecy means," Aziraphale said excitedly, "I think."

"Did you?" Crowley said, sitting up in the bed, all his attention on Aziraphale now.

"Well," Aziraphale began primly, "I found myself thinking about how I wished I could take your place, and then it occurred to me—what if I _could?"_

Crowley blinked. That casual mention of self sacrifice was throwing him for a bit of a loop, and he'd definitely have to sort that out later, but he tried to focus on the matter at hand.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"Well. They would likely execute you with holy water, wouldn't they?" Aziraphale said.

"Yes," Crowley replied. He didn't like to think about it but that would be the way.

"Well I would be immune to that, wouldn't I?"

"...Yes?" Crowley said, still not sure where this was going.

"And you would be immune to the hellfire they'd use for me."

"Well yes, but what good does that knowledge do us?" Crowley said, "It's not as if we could convince them I'm secretly an angel and you were secretly the demon all along."

Aziraphale smiled deviously.

"We could if we _switch bodies_," he said.

Crowley's mouth fell open and he sputtered in surprise. "A- W- Of course! 'Choose your faces wisely'. She was talking about our actual faces!"

"Yes!"

Crowley laughed, with relief as well as glee at the audacity of the plan that now lay before them.

"Oh angel," he said, "I think you were wrong before. The prophecy didn't come to us. It came to _you!"_

"Oh? Why would you say that?" Aziraphale asked, his eyebrows raised.

"Because I never would have thought of that," Crowley admitted.

"Oh, Crowley!" Aziraphale said, in that familiar tone that often slipped through when Crowley said bad things about himself.

"No," Crowley shook his head, "I've been so focused on finding ways to _evade_ capture, it never would have occurred to me to walk straight into their trap and trick them on their home turf! You are so devious, angel!" he grinned widely.

"Well, I," Aziraphale sputtered, looking like he wanted to protest the very notion, just as Crowley had expected him to.

"I suppose I am," Aziraphale agreed, then, to Crowley's surprise, "Just a little." And he smiled that secret little smile and did that little wiggle he did whenever he was feeling very chuffed with himself.

Crowley grinned wider. Aziraphale had never this openly admitted to anything he didn't consider 'angelic' before. This was an exciting new development.

"Yes you are, angel," he said, "And brilliant, too. They'll never see this coming."

It would work, Crowley was sure of it. Because no one back in Heaven or Hell would ever have enough creativity to come up with something like this. And even on the off chance that they did, they would consider it the highest from of sacrilege and dismiss it out of hand.

It would work, and then a whole new era would lay before them. Where they would be free of the constraints of Heaven and Hell. Where they would be on their own side.

And together they would get to decide exactly what that would mean.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed! Please feel free to leave a comment. It's never too late! <3


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